An Experiment
I tried a little experiment yesterday. I treated the Grizzly like a snow machine and did some trail riding. I had the benefit of some aggressive winter tires that were included in the deal when we bought the used ATV, but the results of my experiment did not ultimately produce results I was hoping to achieve.
I was envisioning a wider trail than the skinny packed footprints created by Cyndie when she has been walking Delilah. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to plow the deep snow, because there wasn’t enough traction to overcome the added resistance, I hoped to at least skim off an upper layer while packing down the edges under the wheels.
One of the reasons that didn’t work is that the blade would still dig in at times because the terrain isn’t perfectly flat. I had to lift the blade to a point it was rarely skimming any snow at all.
That produced a final result of two deep ruts on the outside with a narrow plateau in the middle. It didn’t solve the narrow path issue that annoys me.
The best way to get what I want is to purposely trudge the foot trail wider and wider as you go. It is a process that takes time to achieve, although not really all that long if you are walking it 3-times a day with a dog. I have taken to putting on snow shoes this weekend, to more quickly widen and pack the main perimeter route, even though that adds unwanted preparation time to the exercise of getting geared up for a simple walk.
If I was dead set on using the ATV, I could drive the trails over a series of days and make enough progress to plow it down, since the snow will re-freeze each night and provide increasingly better traction for the wheels, but that’s not really what I want.
Given a choice, I prefer a human-powered solution, as well as the aesthetic outcome that a foot path through the woods provides.
I’m going to keep strapping on the snowshoes for a few days.
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Morning Walk
I recorded a portion of yesterday’s walk, capturing Delilah’s routine of pouncing the snow in search of a snack. No critters were harmed in the making of this movie.
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Breakfast Served
I’m posting a little later than usual for a weekday, but it’s a weekend day for me, since I work a 4-day week at the day-job, so that’s my excuse. The actual truth is that I am busier than usual tending to tasks because my ranch partner is on vacation. Cyndie is lounging by the pool at her parent’s home in Florida for a couple of weeks.
I know! She deserves it, make no mistake.
She threatened to pay me back by taking care of our place and George’s for a few days so we could go up to Hayward, WI and do some skiing. That’s nice, but sounds like a lot more work than lounging by a pool, to me.
I am back in the old routine of waking up alone and giving all the animals the morning attention they require. The first task is cleaning up after the horses in the area of the barn overhang. Then I serve up their breakfast cereal in a dance that has become very routine for them when I am doing it. I love how apparent it is that they understand what I will do, and they wait patiently, for the most part, for me to mosey through the steps.
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You may notice in the images, we are being treated this morning to a picturesque “snow-globe” snowfall that is adding a magical feeling to this winter morning. It doesn’t hurt that the temperature has warmed considerably, bringing more than a magical feeling, it is a very real sensation of being much more comfortable for a winter day.
On the way to the barn, Delilah has already taken care of her first order of business, and then she busies herself in the barn by searching for mice or barking annoyingly at the horses or some distant other dog that is inevitably baying for attention. Delilah is more than happy to oblige the neighbor dogs, regardless the anxiety it creates in me and the horses.
If she would be quiet, that morning time can be incredibly serene. When she’s not, her harsh hollering is exceptionally grating. It usually earns her a short leash in the middle of the barn, after which, I close the doors on her. There. Take that, Ms. Barksalot.
When the hay boxes are topped off and the immediate vicinity is poo-free, Delilah gets what she has been waiting for. I take her for a walk. This morning’s was a shortened version, because when we reached the road, there were empty garbage and recycle bins ready to be returned to the garage.
Delilah is usually more than happy to have a short a.m. walk, because returning to the house means she will be presented with her morning meal.
After all that, the master of the house finally is served. Well, not really served. I have to get it myself. Time for my breakfast!
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Fine Fellowship
Cyndie has left the building. I got home from the day-job yesterday and jumped right into ranch chores, during which I received a message she was on her way to the airport. Of course, I am not alone in managing all the tasks while she is gone. She enlisted the help of two pet-sitters who will be covering for me while I’m away at work.
Even though they will be cleaning up after the horses, feeding all the animals, and walking Delilah, I couldn’t resist the urge to do extra work to get everything looking especially well-kept during my shift. Honestly, I did want to reduce the amount of work they need to bother with, but part of me also hoped to avoid giving the impression we don’t put much effort toward good housekeeping.
Kind of like cleaning your house before your hired cleaning person shows up to work.
With the primary chef of our household on leave, you might think I would be forced to resort to reheating leftovers in the microwave on the very first night of being home alone. If you would think that, you’d be wrong.
George wasted no time in contacting me with an invitation to dinner at his house. I ate like a king! In addition to that, I was presented with the additional pleasure of meeting a friend of his who showed up to join us. Much to my surprise, Ed happens to have spent plenty of time in our house, before we lived here.
We bought this place from his sister. Yes, it makes the world seem another increment smaller to me today.
I think Ed and I have a pretty similar knack for talking, and we commanded most of the conversation while getting to know each other. Meeting him was an added bonus on top of getting together with George and consuming another delicious sampling of his fine culinary skills.
I almost feel guilty over giving Cyndie a full description of the fabulous food and fine fellowship I enjoyed in her absence.
Maybe it would be best if I choose to paint a picture of suffering that I endure whenever she is away from me, instead.
I’ve seen enough sitcoms in my lifetime to know how these things go.
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Above Zero
I am intrigued by how noticeable a relief it is when our temperature climbs back above zero (F) after an extreme cold snap. There’s an almost magical difference in how it feels. After a full day indoors at work yesterday, I stepped out the door and was immediately aware of the softer feel in the air.
It doesn’t necessarily come across as being warm, but there is a definite lack of it feeling mercilessly, brutally cold.
I don’t know if any of this has anything to do with the headlights in my car burning out, but it seems to me that I always find myself changing a bulb when it is uncomfortably cold for my hands to do so. Even though it is above zero, it is still cold for a hand to be navigating down through limited space of dirty metal and plastic, and then awkwardly trying to press a release tab to wrestle a reluctant connector out of a socket.
It’s worth it to me though, because I really don’t like having only one working headlight. I noticed the reflection of my padiddle in the tailgate of a truck while approaching a stoplight. I was headed to get gas on my way home yesterday, and the station is located very close to an auto parts store.
How convenient.
I successfully replaced the bulb within an hour of discovering the need, despite the not-below-zero-but-still-hard-on-the-hands cold temperature. I’m pretty sure that was a personal best time interval for me.
Cyndie leaves for Florida today, but before she goes, her plan is to take the blankets off the horses. I’m a big advocate of letting them adjust au naturel, and the weekend may bring a warm up that gets us above freezing, so it seems like a chance to give them a break from the straight jackets.
I think they will be happy with that. But that’s coming from a guy who prefers to sleep naked, so my opinion is probably biased.
As long as we anthropomorphize how cold they must feel, it would stand to reason to assume they grow weary of the constricting confines of the blankets, as well.
I’m going to assume they have the same reaction as I do, to the incredible difference in how the winter air feels after a cold spell breaks.
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Chilly Chillin’
When I got home from work yesterday, Cyndie wasn’t back from an errand to Hudson, so it became my responsibility to take Delilah for a walk. Cyndie anticipated her arrival would be shortly thereafter and that she could tend to the horses.
Fine with me. Ms. Canine greeted me at the door, sweet as could be, and appeared perfectly thrilled over the opportunity to get outside, regardless the ongoing deep freeze we were experiencing.
It was an agenda-free stroll. We just hung out together.
I started with a little bush-whacking through undisturbed snow along one of our trails that hadn’t been traveled for a long time. Delilah loved it. There were plenty of fresh scents from critters for her to investigate, and several opportunities for her very fox-like “pounce.” She cocks her head to listen and then leaps straight up with all 4 paws, so that her nose-down landing, deep into the snow, will be a total surprise attack.
Cute as heck, but she very rarely seems to be on the right track. Makes me wonder what spawns the sudden dramatic maneuvers, either sound or scent. Maybe both. She obviously shows signs of listening, but I am never sure whether that is because she smelled something first, or not.
We made our way over toward the horses in the large paddock. They all seemed to be biding their time until they could get inside to the bedding of wood shavings in their stalls for some long winter naps. Even a thin metal roof overhead is good enough to offer a noticeable buffer from the bitter cold that seems to fall directly from outer space. They show signs of being keenly aware of that advantage when the nighttime temperatures head into double digits below zero.
I glanced toward the orange glow of the setting sun and spotted a nice view of the steam that rises off the cooking compost pile. With the air so bitter cold, it is all the more fascinating that the microorganisms breaking down the pile of sullied bedding generate temperatures to 140° (F) and beyond.
The pile gets a thick version of hoarfrost from the steam, which provides a nice touch of drama on top of the otherwise unsavory mound.
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New Sitters
I’m not quite sure why, but something about this past weekend felt surreal. Part of it was probably a result of the extreme cold accompanied by a dangerous windchill, which limited my time outdoors. Part of it was the unnatural amount of time I spent in front of the television, watching NFL playoff games.
Playoff games can be disorienting, when you have no emotional attachment to the outcome. It means so much to the players and fans on the screen, but in my home, the drama and spectacle were meaningless. Delilah, Cyndie, and Pequenita were oblivious to it all.
Cyndie is preparing to visit her parents in Florida for a couple of weeks. That is a little unnerving for me, contemplating how I will manage both the day-job and the ranch detail without her. She has a plan for that. In an ongoing quest to recruit potential horse-sitters, she recently came upon an interesting combination.
Following up on a couple of leads, one from our vet, and another from a hygienist in our dentist’s office, she learned about two local people. It was a surprise to us that the two happened to be well acquainted with each other. One woman had been a babysitter for the other, years ago. Now they both have horses of their own and do pet sitting jobs regularly. Last Thursday they came to meet our herd and discuss the details of how they could give Delilah attention and feed our horses on mornings that I leave early for work.
What wonderful luck to find two people at once who can split the job and provide full coverage for us, despite their varied individual availability.
There is hope that the bitter cold will release its grip after today. That means we will be able to keep the horses outside at night again, which will save me from the chore of cleaning the stalls every day.
This is a view of the back side of the barn. Legacy’s window is on the left, Dezirea’s window on the right. When they are cold or wet, the horses congregate at the door, wanting to get inside.
The new sitters were surprised we didn’t just open the door and let them go inside on their own. We decided to give it a try. I was down cleaning the waterer when Cyndie let them in.
It was a little chaotic. She had put up a rope to confine them to the side where their stalls are located, but it was just enough change, on top of the fact they were free to find their way, that they seemed to get a little confused.
Dezirea went into her stall, but then came back out again, Legacy was checking out everyone’s stall, and Cayenne was flustered and just stood in the aisle-way. Hunter hustled in behind her and suddenly there was a traffic jam. It sounded kind of funny to me, but it was risky enoCyndie said she was going to walk them in individually again next time.
There isn’t really enough space for our 4 large Arabians to do a free-style entrance into their stalls. We’re going to stick with the routine that has been working well for us thus far.
If the weather warms up like it is expected to, it won’t be an issue for a while now, anyway.
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Passing Middle
As long as I am writing about calendar days, it occurs to me that, not only are we passing the middle of the month of January, we are essentially heading into the second half of our long winter.
There are several ways that I can gauge this. We have almost devoured the first full rack of firewood that we stacked on the deck.
We are about halfway through the hay stored in our hay shed.
We have filled just over half the space where we store composting manure during the cold months.
In terms of weather, this weekend we are due to receive the coldest blast of Arctic air of the winter. There are warnings posted about dangerous wind chills on Sunday through Monday morning.
After we get through this, it is expected to warm up to El Niño-driven-warmer-than-usual temperatures for this time of year. I’m okay with that. Even if I live a long and healthy life, by conventional standards, it is reasonable to think that I am past the middle of my years on this planet. I am growing more satisfied with mild weather than I was in my younger days.
I checked the level of propane in our big tank yesterday, to make sure we don’t need to order more yet. It is less than half full, but there is enough to get through the winter at the rate we use it.
I have a sense of being on the downhill side of things, which provides an impression things should be easier. We get to coast.
Could it be that we are even passing the middle of a change in our climate? Thinking about the coldest possible temperature of the winter reminded me of the remarkable graphic posted by Paul Huttner in his weather blog, “Updraft.”
Look at the trend line of the oscillating minimum temperatures recorded in the Twin Cities in my lifetime. If this keeps going, I could live during a year when temperatures here don’t even dip below zero.
That would seem like coasting through a winter.
In my advancing years, I think I will enjoy the ride. In the mean time, bring on today’s deep freeze.
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Get Up
You get up and face another day. It looks just like most other days. To some, it may be a day of dramatic significance, but for the rest of the world, it is normal to the point of being unremarkable. It hardly matters that it is the 15th day of January today.
How did we get here, to the middle of the first month of 2016 already?
I deal with the date a lot at work. Often, it is days far into the future that I am committing to as goals. As a result, I find myself growing numb about what the actual day’s date really is.
If you had long ago set today’s date as important and pondered over it at length throughout the ensuing time, achieving this day would understandably hold particular worth.
I don’t know how to pull that off for every single day.
When I was home all day, every day, managing all the ranch chores, I tended to lose track of what day it was. Now that I am in the completely different situation of driving to work to spend the days dealing with future dates on the calendar, I find it funny that I still lose track of what day it is.
Throughout my life, I’ve not been very good about waking up everyday with a feeling of awe over the gift of the day. Maybe that leads to my tendency to feel shock over the times that I do pay attention to the date. I don’t know.
Lately, I have been enjoying periods of intense pleasure over an immediate moment. The color of the sky, just after sunset. The look in someone’s eye. The sigh of our resting dog.
It doesn’t matter what day it is, when a fleeting moment catches your attention and feeds your soul.
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